


If it fits

by zetsubooty



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Customizable Android Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), Established Relationship, Fluff, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Hank Anderson, Trans Male Character, because I am a self-indulgent bitch, because what the fuck else are we here for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 06:37:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17782454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubooty/pseuds/zetsubooty
Summary: Is there anything more exciting (also terrifying) than finding out your android boyfriend has a sexy surprise waiting for you?





	If it fits

**Author's Note:**

> *spreads hands* happy valumtimes!
> 
> I'd like to acknowledge that, while I am enby, I am not a trans dude and there may be shit about that experience that I don't get. If there's any feedback you wanna give, I'm open.
> 
> I didn't wanna incorporate a laundry list of medical stuff in the fic bc that seemed weird in this context, but Hank's been on t for ages, had top surgery, and a metoidioplasty.

[11:34 am] Connor<3: What are your preferences re: genitalia?

[11:39 am] ME: Uh  
[11:42 am] ME: Yours?

[11:42 am] Connor<3: I’d like specifics, if possible.

[11:42 am] ME: You mean like size

[11:42 am] Connor<3: That too, I suppose, but I guess what I’m asking is, what is your sexual preference re: varieties of primary and secondary sex characteristics?

[11:43 am] ME: Littl e early in the day for sexting isnt it

[11:43 am] Connor<3: Please stop deflecting, this is a serious question.

[11:48 am] ME: And its seriously freaking me out  
[11:50 am] ME: I like everything I dunno  
[11:50 am] ME: Like I say right now I mostly like you  
[11:50 am] ME: Zero complaints so far about your dick

[11:50 am] Connor<3: Thank you. I suppose that will have to suffice.

[11:51 am] ME: Hey one request  
[11:51 am] ME: Never use the word suffice when we fuck

Connor seemingly satisfied, Hank tries to put the interaction out of his head and get back to work. But it keeps intruding at awkward moments

_ Why the fuck is he asking this shit now, of all times? I’m pretty sure I’ve made it real obvious I’m attracted to him. _

Then again, maybe he hadn’t, or maybe not by whatever obscure metrics androids use. They’d more fallen into this than anything, no grand declaration of love, no formal statement of intent, just something as inevitable as the slow collision of tectonic plates.

Hank’d felt just as shaken by that first kiss. Rattled to his core when Connor grabbed the front of his coat, stopped him before he turned away again, just this once but once was enough.

He shivers a little, thinking about that first time, thinking about the urgent press of Connor’s lips and his chest leaning against Hank’s, still clutching his lapels like he didn’t entirely know what to do with his hands. Thinking about guiding those hands gently to his shoulders, Connor responding by slipping his fingers under Hank’s collar like a cat seeking warmth. About the unfamiliar taste of him, something he might even have been repulsed by a year ago but in that moment, every moment after, was the sweetest flavour and god, he’d marvelled before at the pliability if those lips, but feeling them on his own was a fucking revelation.

Hank rubs at his beard, shielding his face from any onlookers.

He spends the rest of the day wracking his brain for what combo of gift or mushy card would make an extremely fancy android feel loved and sexy, or whatever the hell Connor’s missing. He gets jack all done, except ushering himself closer to a heart attack.

By the time he walks in the door, bouquet of roses held down at his side like he’s embarrassed about it (which he is), he’s getting pissed. Especially since the house seems empty of anyone but Sumo, who at least has the decency to come greet him. Hank smacks the roses down on the kitchen counter, calling, “Connor?” irritably.

“I’m in here!” comes from the other end of the house.

Hank turns to look with widening eyes as though Connor might pop up around the corner.

With Connor, it’s easy to turn himself around, forget that sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one. Hank stops himself just shy of running down the hall, shrugs out of his coat as he goes and dumps it on the floor, almost trips himself as he toes out of his shoes, and finally arrives in the bedroom doorway with his breath already coming quick and his blood pumping.

The bedside lamp is on, casting its pale amber glow over the room and sifting through sheer pale turquoise fabric to turn the shadows delineating Connor’s back and ass warm and fuzzy. Hank’s mouth falls open on a slow exhale as he takes in Connor: lounging on his side facing away from the door, his torso a relaxed curve unfurling into his long stocking-clad legs, darker teal to match the outfit's trim. The babydoll clings around his ribs and drapes over his hip in perfect artistic folds, barely concealing the matching panties underneath, their satiny ribbon ties the only mar to the smooth line of Connor’s side.

When Hank bought that set for him a month ago, he hadn’t been prepared for the fact he’d basically handed over a goddamn weapon of mass destruction.

As if he’d perfectly calculated the time Hank would need to fully appreciate this image, Connor twists, looking back over his shoulder with a small smile. Arousal pulses through Hank, propels him into the room, twines around his tongue until he’s held mute and aching and swallowing hard. Connor rolls, legs lifting languorously into the air, then swings himself upright on the edge of the bed. Hank shudders in a breath, letting his eyes fall from Connor’s full-on fucking bedroom eyes to the gorgeous wings of his collarbones spread over the deep V of the babydoll’s front, to the soft-looking curve of his stomach and parted thighs, to his—

“What. In the everloving fuck. Is that.”

Connor glances down, seeming as close to uncertain as Hank’s ever seen him. “A different genital panel?”

“O…okay… Second question: why?” Prickling uneasiness aside, Hank comes to stand between Connor’s knees, resting his hands on his shoulders and rubbing a thumb over his skin.

“I’ve been…” Connor wraps his arms around Hank’s back, smushing his face against his belly. “I found some products that are designed to accommodate penetrative sex with a small penis.”

“Boy, you sure know how to make a guy feel sexy.” Despite his grouchy words, he curls a hand in Connor’s hair, pulling him against himself.

Connor’s hands drag down his back, over his ass to the backs of his thighs. “I thought we should try one out. That’s why I’ve been saving my money.”

“You…planned this.” He cards his hand through Connor’s hair, touch already a little rough as ebbed arousal fills back in.

Connor nods, finally looking up at him with his face still squashed against Hank’s shirt and his voice slightly muffled. “I think you’ll enjoy it quite a bit, based on the reviews. As will I.”

Hank lets his breath rush out, pulling Connor’s head back by the hair and curving down to kiss him. Connor’s hands slide back up under his ass, pushing between his thighs and awakening another warm pang. He’d love to just stand here getting groped, but Hank’s aching for more contact; he pushes Connor’s shoulder, resting one knee on the bed. Connor shimmies back accommodatingly, resisting breaking the kiss for as long as possible as he situates himself lengthwise on the bed, resting on his elbows.

Much as Hank wants to just follow, collapse on his tongue, he lingers to get a better look at Connor’s new purchase.

He brushes aside one layer of silky sheer fabric, admiring the shadows of Connor’s spread thighs and the perfect indentation where the lace tops of his stockings squeeze around synthetic skin. Through the panties, he can see what looks like a vulva, though the topography seems a little flattened, especially lower down. It’s outlined by a demurely natural cover of hair a shade darker than what covers Connor’s head, though Hank knows that’s his own addition. Whatever strange alterations there might be, it still has a lovingly-crafted clit, barely visible at present but he still can’t help immediately imagining it against his tongue, caught between his lips. The opening seems wide, but when he brushes a finger over the fabric covering it, eyes flicking between his hand and Connor’s breathlessly intent face, it twitches, tightens, protrudes slightly in a way that reminds him disconcertingly of some weird sea creature but also makes his pelvic muscles clench on another wave of arousal.

This could be fun. This could be very, very fun.

“Do you like it?” Connor pushes himself up on one hand, reaching for Hank with the other. Hank is more than happy to let himself be pulled into a kiss, long and lazy with familiarity. Connor’s hands push up under his shirt, everything marmalade-warm as his lips part on a light puff of air.

Hank draws back with an inhale, draped above Connor’s prone form with his forehead pressed against Connor’s nose and his eyes lingering closed. “Yeah. Yeah, I like it.”

He sits back, straddling Connor’s thigh, and strips off his shirt, dropping it on the floor. He starts to curl forward, but stops himself, undoing the button of his jeans and fishing out his packer with an embarrassed wince and chucking it after his shirt. In a rush, he flows back over Connor’s body, grabbing his other leg to urge it up over his hip. Connor gasps gratifyingly, one hand curling on the back of his shoulder and the other sliding into his hair to bring him into another wet kiss. He can feel the heat of Connor’s crotch against his hip, even through denim, and it leaves him grinding down against his leg with a low grumble. His fingers press into the softness of Connor’s ass, stroke down his thigh past the edge of the lace and back up, feeling the alien way Connor flexes with adoration.

Connor skims a hand down his back, teasing at the edge of his jeans before sliding in to grope him, pull him into each lazy rock of their hips. He knots his fingers in Hank’s hair, pulling so their foreheads are pressed together, simulated breath puffing against Hank’s already-tender lips. Hank cups Connor’s jaw, smudges his thumb against his lower lip. Connor gasps something suspiciously close to a whine, tilting his head to kiss the pad, the base of Hank’s thumb, open his mouth in silent request.

Hank’s more than happy to oblige, raising himself on one elbow to watch his thumb push between his lips, feel the soft, wet smear of his tongue.

“You’re real worked up, huh? Excited about your new toy?” Hank drags his thumb almost out before sliding back in deep. “You give it a li’l test drive before I got home?”

Connor makes a wordless noise, lips parting wetly and his leg pulling tight against Hank’s ass. Abruptly, he claws Hank’s hand away from his mouth, pulling him up like he’s on fire.

“What?” He’s so unwilling to move, to give up the full-body contact, obstinately grinds down against the gentle curve of Connor’s thigh.

Connor’s still grabbing at him, though. “I want you in my mouth…!” His voice is tight in a way Hank’s sure he thinks is undeniable. He’s not entirely wrong.

“You already got me in your mouth,” Hank snaps, eyes narrowing for a second before softening. “You want it, huh?” He licks his lips, running a finger over Connor’s before jamming two into his open mouth.

Despite the obvious frustration in his eyes, Connor’s lips seal around his knuckles, coating them in thickened wetness as he pulls them out. Hank dips down, kissing his throat, his adam’s apple, up under the corner of his jaw as he fucks Connor’s mouth. Connor’s eyes narrow to slits, his hips moving with restless power under Hank as his tongue laps against the pads of his fingers. He’s still trying to wrestle Hank up; god knows he could if he really wanted to, and that as much as anything keeps Hank’s breath short and his lips busy on Connor’s skin, is leaving the inside of his boxers sticky-slick. Sidetracking someone so goal-focused and obstinate simply with touch, with the heavy, hungry press of his body…it’s a heady drug and he can never have enough.

Connor pulls on his wrist again. “Hank…”

He’s just teasing them both. Hank shakes free of Connor’s grasp, bracing his hand next to his head. “How,” he clears his throat, “how do you want me?”

There’s such immense gratitude in Connor’s eyes, it’s like a gut punch of bliss. Connor pushes him back, following him with soft kisses. He stops Hank once he’s up on his knees and reaches down to unzip his fly, then shoves his hand down the front of his jeans, fingers unerringly finding his dick.

“Shit,” Hank groans, grabbing at his wrist before sliding his hand down outside his jeans, pressing Connor’s hand against his crotch. Connor releases his own groan against Hank’s shoulder, hoarse and needy and hitting Hank low, low, and so fucking good. Connor works his dick eagerly, shoving his jeans down with his other hand and grabbing at his ass, sliding powerful fingers underneath to press into the growing wetness there and then back to tease his ass.

Hank strokes his hair, hips tilting back. “I dunno if I can last long enough to try that thing out.” He’s mostly joking, but Connor finally raises his head to give him a deadly serious look.

“I don’t care. I’ll keep going until you’re ready again. I want you to fuck me.”

Heat spreads on his cheeks and across his chest, intoxicating and overwhelming and Connor now stripping down his boxers with determination in his eyes that’s nearly threatening. Hank totters off the side of the bed to struggle all the way out of his pants, then turns back to Connor. Gorgeous Connor with his own cheeks flushed and his lips parted softly and his hands reaching out to draw Hank back onto the bed, gather him close against his chest and then higher as he lies back on the pillows.

“Like this,” he breathes.

Eyes wide, Hank steps his knees up either side of Connor’s head. Holding his eyes with naked adoration on his face, Connor cups the back of Hank’s thighs and pulls him in.

“Shit,” Hank repeats, voice weaker as his hips buck. Connor holds him there, buried in his mouth, eyes closed as he laves at the underside. He releases Hank with a gasp that’s entirely for Hank’s benefit, letting him sit back but immediately chasing him to mouth the tip with the daintiest touch. Connor urges him in again, lapping waves easing him deeper until lip-shielded teeth close on the base and make Hank hiss with pleasure.

He cups Connor’s jaw with one hand, gripping the bedframe with the other, and rolls his hips forward. Connor groans, lips vibrating, and even if part of Hank’s brain knows those are independent and artificial, it still grabs him low and hard, still feels fucking exquisite. He pushes his fingers into Connor’s hair, pulling him in with his thrust and then pressing him back into the pillow as he pulls out. Connor stares up at him, lips flushed dark and gleaming wet even before he runs his tongue over them. Hank squashes his thumb against Connor’s lip again, wishing he could somehow curl down and kiss him without moving. Instead, he shifts his grip back to Connor’s hair and pushes into his mouth once more.

Connor sucks him in like it’s a gift, one hand slipping up to grab Hank’s ass and the other reaching higher up Hank’s side until his fingers curl around the back of Hank’s neck, forcing him to look down. Hank meets those toasty-warm brown eyes, marvels at the depth of them, at the love reflected back at him. He leans his elbow on the bedframe and his forehead on his arm, watching Connor’s cheeks hollow as he sucks, watching his eyelids flutter closed, watching his flush spread and deepen.

Hank grazes back over Connor’s cheekbone with fingernails, cups his face, smiling. “Sometimes, I feel like you get off on this more than I do.”

Connor opens his eyes like the lids are lead weights, pupils blown wide as he gazes up at Hank. He laps at Hank’s cock, tasting him, curling his tongue around his shape, then letting him slip from between his lips. “Would penetration enhance your enjoyment?”

Hank stares down at him for a solid half a minute, then snorts out a laugh.

Connor pulls down on his hips, mouth quirking with dismay. “I said something unsexy again, didn’t I.”

“Okay, yeah, but you do it so often, I think I’m starting to find it kinda hot outta self-defense.” Hank combs fingers through Connor’s hair over and over, dick missing his lips already.  Still _ …  _ Considering for a second, he walks back stiffly on his knees, bending over Connor once he gets far enough down to reach his lips. Connor’s arms twine around his neck as he deepens the kiss, pulling Hank down. He lets himself be moved, relaxing into his support, grabbing hungrily at Connor’s side to feel the exquisite solidness of him under the soft slide of fabric and the gentle yield of skin.

Hank breaks the kiss, pressing his nose against Connor’s cheek. “Was gonna say yes, but this is…”

Connor somehow executes some freak gymnast move that gets his legs out from under Hank and wrapped around his hips before he can do more than breathe a confused noise. It brings his crotch into full, gooey contact with Hank’s stomach.

“ Fuck . Me.”

“I like this one so far,” Connor says in his typical pleasant conversational tone, all while flexing around Hank, rubbing against him with obvious relish.

Hank jams his face against Connor’s shoulder, dropping his hand from Connor’s side to his ass and pulling him against him. Connor sighs a sweet noise against his temple that dips on a distortion, arching and squirming like he can’t get enough. Hank shoves himself up, dragging against Connor’s inner thighs and hiking up the babydoll’s skirt, and lands with a protracted groan and his dick cushioned perfectly on Connor’s…whatever they’re going to end up calling it. Wet and soft and hot and there’s still the separation of fabric but Hank can feel how easy it’ll be to push inside and even as he has the thought, Connor seems to open around him, giving him a taste that leaves him shuddering. 

“Jesus  _ Christ _ ,” he moans, dragging his lips up Connor’s chin to find his mouth. He gropes his way to Connor’s hip, yanking at the panty’s ties with lust-thick fingers until they come loose, then just petting his skin with a heavy touch as they grind against each other. Connor hums a needy noise, legs tightening briefly, fingers stroking over Hank’s face then one hand reaching down his back, slipping on sweaty skin. Hank grabs his other hand, unable to do more than squeeze it hard as they kiss, but Connor wriggles in his grip, managing to lace their fingers together, his other hand travelling lazily along Hank’s spine as he mouths his lower lip.

“H…Hank…” He can feel Connor’s lips working incoherently and it’s absolutely spellbinding. “I want…I want you inside… I want…” Connor pushes him back as though it’s taking every ounce of processing power.

Hank lets himself be moved, coming up on hands and knees, panting heavily with need. He stops, gazing down adoringly at Connor splayed below him, one fist covering his open mouth and the other hand reaching after Hank as if it hadn’t been his idea to move apart. The flush of his chest is framed beautifully by the babydoll’s neckline, a work of art worthy of any gallery but laid out just for him. Hank skims one hand up Connor’s side, brushing a nipple through the fabric, back down again to smooth his palm over Connor’s stomach, down, down to where hair darkens the fabric.

Hank brushes his thumb down the edge of one lip, feeling the radiant heat as he watches Connor’s face, watches his lashes flutter and droop, watches his pink lips shine as they work around words that won’t come. He’s aching, aching, his dick pulsing hungrily, but he can’t fucking resist it, resist falling down between Connor’s thighs with a low hum and pressing his face into his crotch.

Connor gives two sharp gasps, grabbing his hair roughly. Hank breathes in half a curse, opening his mouth against the slickened fabric. Another time, maybe he’ll go slow, pay more attention to the thighs tightening around his head and the delicate topography open to his exploring tongue. Maybe even later tonight. But right now, he pushes his tongue against Connor’s clit and then takes him into his mouth with a groan. Connor bucks under him, fingers clenching. Hank’s lips pull in as close to a smile as he can manage, one thumb slipping under the loosened edge of Connor’s panties to graze his skin, push further until he can feel Connor’s dripping hole. Connor’s thighs squeeze around him, just shy of uncomfortable but intoxicating in their abandon, in the urgent way his legs lock around Hank’s back and shoulders. His own hips shift restlessly, longing for some friction of their own, but he keeps his legs spread as he inserts two fingers inside Connor.

Connor fully squeaks.

When Hank spares a glance, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, his throat an immaculate stretch above his heaving chest. His hole squeezes and sucks around Hank’s finger as he fucks him, almost making him regret putting off sinking his dick into it, almost. But he loves this, loves tasting Connor soaking through the fabric, loves feeling how hard his clit is between his lips. Loves feeling that spot just behind the pelvic bone or whatever passes for it, fucking loves when Connor surges and squeezes around him with a distorted cry, every limb tensed and humming, shuddering, pulsing. Hank’s muscles clench tight and he almost feels like he could come too, lack of stimulation be damned, just overwhelmed with the intensity he can feel shivering under Connor’s skin and with the thought of feeling him do it again on his cock.

He fingers him gently through it, finally pulling back to rub his cheek against Connor’s inner thigh as he tries to catch his breath. One of Connor’s hands drags down his cheek, coaxing Hank to look up, see him staring down with an absolutely wrecked expression.

“I really…I  _ really _ like this one…” Connor draws a finger along the edge of his pussy; Hank catches it, kissing his palm.

“Me too.” He presses another heavy kiss to Connor’s skin. “I mean, I like the dick too, I just…you know… Fuck, I…”

Connor huffs a breathy laugh, pushing him up, back. “Hank? Be quiet.”

“Hey…!” He lets himself be pushed to his knees, wrapping his arms around Connor’s waist when he comes up too. “No, you should lie back. It, uh, it won’t really work any…”

“It’ll be fine.” Connor kisses him with a hunger like he hadn’t come just a minute before. “I want to watch you.” Insistently, he slings one leg around Hank’s hip, pulling the gooey warmth of his crotch against Hank’s dick. He slips his tongue into Hank’s mouth, guiding one of his hands under the draping fabric to the remaining tie. Hank tugs on the silky ribbon eagerly, dropping the slip of cloth off to the side before ducking his hand back under to squeeze Connor’s ass, press underneath teasingly close to his hole. Connor leans into him pointedly before drawing back, and Hank takes the hint to drop back on the bed.

“What, I don’t get pillows?” he asks, mouth quirking as he crosses his arms behind his head.

“No,” Connor says, walking on his knees to straddle Hank’s hips. Hank has the feeling Connor’s trying to joke, but the intent focus in his eyes makes it seem more like a threat. Not that he’s complaining.

Lips parted, Connor places his palms on Hank’s belly, then slowly bends over him, walking his hands up as he comes close, the skirt of the babydoll brushing over Hank’s sensitised skin. The kiss is tender at first, sweet, Hank unable to keep his hands off him and burying one in Connor’s hair as their lips move together more greedily. Connor strokes his chest, past the scars, down to caress his belly, reach tantalisingly close to his cock before coming back up to press into his side. Slowly, slowly, as if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, Connor breaks the kiss and sits back, holding himself just above Hank’s hips. A droplet of something warm and slick falls onto Hank’s skin.

Eyes never leaving his, Connor reaches down, fingers squashing into the chub over Hank’s pelvis, adjusting him so his full length is available. With immaculate control and unerring aim, he lowers himself onto Hank’s cock.

“Holy…” His voice trails into a strained noise. It’s. Fucking phenomenal. All the softness he’s loved so many times before with fingers and tongue, dipped into but never had closed around his dick quite like this... A loose cushion against the sensitive tip and the opening forming a tighter ring that makes him wonder if there’s an ass version too, and Connor hanging above him with a look of utter bliss on his face as he finally comes to rest fully on Hank’s hips.

His eyes slit open on darkness that holds Hank’s gaze as surely as Connor’s slick insides hold his cock. And then he moves.

Hank groans, grabbing for Connor’s hips, more from a need to hold on than any desire to direct him. Connor keeps his hands pressed against Hank’s belly, eyes finally releasing his to travel hungrily down his torso. His hips move in tiny, crisp circles at first, barely raising himself off Hank’s lap, his breath punching out hoarsely each time his slight weight comes down again. Hank doesn’t give a shit if it unseats him, he can’t stop from moving with Connor, rocking his hips up to meet him and curving his ass back against the covers as Connor comes up. He doesn’t slip out though, Connor just slides wetly around Hank in a way he’s sure is some kind of mechanical marvel but all he gives a fuck about right now is how fucking  _ good _ it feels, how he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, how Connor keeps squeezing around him in waves, how he’s moaning and arching and grinding down against him like he can’t get enough.

Connor lifts himself higher now, as though more confident with the new anatomy, slamming back down on Hank’s lap with a breathless cry before raising up again. Hank brushes aside the sheer fabric, watching between Connor’s legs to see his cock melting into that slick hole again and again. Connor’s dripping wet and so is he, everything feeling silky-slick in the cup of his hips, a rising irresistible pressure that has him gasping garbled words. Connor tugs the skirt out of Hank’s grasp, clasping it against his chest as he stares down, open-mouthed, fingers stroking over Hank’s skin with a peculiar tenderness even as he rams himself down on his cock. Hank clenches his hands on Connor’s thighs, half-curved off the bed, teeth gritted and breath hissing out between them as he fucks up into him.

Connor’s pussy squeezes around him in a thick shuddering wave he’d felt before around his finger, his whole torso twitching as he cries out, curves forward. Hank’s been singing on the edge for a delicious while and feeling Connor come on his dick sends him rocketing over. He calls out some garbled curse, toes digging into the bed as he lifts Connor up with his hips, pleasure pulsing through him and throbbing in his cock, rippling back up his stomach, and Connor staring down at him with love and lust twined in his eyes and every angle of his still-heaving body as he holds on to Hank’s side for dear life.

They stay frozen like that, chests rising and falling rapidly, one a desperate drive for oxygen, one a performance, a reflection, more beautiful than the real thing. Hank’s legs give a shudder, then he falls flat on the blanket with a hard exhale, splaying his arms to the side in a half-joking picture of exhaustion. Connor collapses on him in stages, wedging his arms under Hank’s shoulders and tucking his face under his chin. Hank slaps a shaky arm around his back, then rolls them on their sides, gathering Connor against his chest.

“That was nice,” Connor muffles against his pec.

Hank snort-laughs, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.” He tugs Connor’s hair, tipping his head back. “Thanks.”

Connor beams at him for a second, then kicks up so he can press their lips together firmly. He smells like sex and contentment and Hank can’t get enough of it, hugs him close with a groan, dragging a heavy hand up and down his back.

Sleep tugs him one way, hunger another, and also the desire to keep kissing until he’s ready to go again. But for now, he’s happy to just exist in this warmth, this small circle of Home in Connor’s arms and their blended afterglow.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Not pictured: Hank asking Connor just how long he was waiting posed on the bed (not very long he has superhuman hearing and reflexes)


End file.
